Before Dawn
by Adrianna AEternalis
Summary: Spoilers Bunches of them. Destiny brought them together, Fate brought them love, But choice kept them together. [IanSara]
1. Alleyway

Disclaimer: _Witchblade_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I cannot help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway and b8kworm. I have taken liberties with the legend and lore surrounding the Witchblade, but it was fun to create something half as rich as actuality.

Summary: Destiny brought them together, Fate brought them love, But choice kept them together.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Mine. Anybody else, email me; I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): Ian/Sara

Spoiler(s): Yes, but they're all over the place and I can't name specific episodes.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: Before Dawn

Author: Adrianna AEternalis  
Email: adrianna@darkcorner.com

  


Chapter 1: Alleyway

She was trapped in the alleyway with no fire escapes within reach. Greasy men cornered her with a variety of weapons; she saw flashes of light off handheld knives and the dull glints of reflections on gun muzzles.

The only thing keeping her alive was the suspended Witchblade in sword form and the pseudo-armor that hugged her body. The men had been prepared for a fight but not for the full fury of the Witchblade or its Wielder.

As they tried to improvise, they neglected to watch the mouth of the alleyway. Sara saw her road to freedom mere seconds before it was filled by her stalker in black who appeared as a silhouette against the fiery sky of the setting sun.

Sara's attackers saw Ian too late to stop his momentum. He was an imposing sight - wielding his own choice weapon of the sword - with the deadly knowledge of swift kills. Deadly accurate, he turned and sliced and swiveled and jabbed his way into the crowd of attackers.

With their attention diverted, Sara let loose with a scream and launched herself into the men with renewed vigor. Just as she reached her rescuer, she felt the whoosh of air that told her to duck; the thrown knife found a second unexpected target in Ian's shoulder.

He went down on one knee as the pain lacerated his concentration. Sara saw the tide of the fight turn for the worse as her attackers regrouped with this minor victory. Ian staggered to his feet when Sara flung herself to his side, close enough now for him to clearly hear the venom in her voice over the growls and grunts.

"Ian, listen to me. If you let them kick my ass, I'm going to kick yours the first chance I get. Got it?"

She felt his muscles shift as he switched his sword to his left hand and straightened to his full height. He glanced at Sara and she was spellbound to muteness from the unnatural glow of his eyes. Then, he reached for her with his injured arm and substituted their positions in time to block the next blow.

Sara gave herself a small shake and returned her attention to the fray. Her first priority would be to survive; the next two would be to examine why she did not question Ian's appearance or the relief she felt with him at her side. Maybe, then, she would find the energy to wonder why Ian's eyes aroused such a complex mixture of questions and emotions in that split second.

***** 

Finally, Sara's alleyway attackers either lay in agony at their feet or had fled for safety. She was exhausted so she simply watched as Ian slowly moved through the men and questioned those still alive. Another day, another alleyway, she may have questioned his interrogation skills, but not tonight. Tonight, it felt revitalizing to have somebody in her corner - somebody physically solid.

He slit one attacker's radial artery and the man slowly bled out as he divulged information to Ian. He snapped the last man's neck in annoyance before returning to Sara's side. She roused herself enough to gingerly remove the knife protruding from his shoulder; she knew she should not - they really should find some discreet medical attention, but she gave control to Ian the moment she collapsed against the wall. If he wanted the knife removed, well, then, that was what she would do.

Ian nodded his thanks when he turned to face her, kneeling before her seated form. Her knees were drawn up and her head fell limply to them. Gentle hands supported her head for his brief examination. Sara did not see the concern overshadowing pain; her eyes were closed.

Satisfied with seeing only fatigue, Ian said one uncertain word. "Sara?"

She heard the concern in a voice that reminded her of warmed honey. Sara acknowledged Ian by opening her eyes; she blinked his face into focus and promptly closed her eyes again. Her mind was so perilously close to information overload.

"Sara? We need to leave."

She tried; she really did. In the end, it was Ian's strength that lifted her to her feet and waited those long agonizing moments for the Witchblade to retract into its dormant bracelet form. He supported most of her weight as they staggered to his waiting Ducati. They sped through the relatively quiet streets of New York City at night.

***** 

Speed and the cold night roused Sara from her post-adrenaline stupor. Slowly, she took notice as Ian wound his way from the site of her attack to the familiar streets near her apartment. He drove past her street and building at random intervals obviously looking for any traps nearby it. When he finally slowed the motorcycle down, Sara suddenly felt Ian's nearness through the warmth of his body and the unmistakable tangy smell of blood.

She swung herself off the motorcycle first and voluntarily looked into Ian's surprised eyes. Forestalling his immediate reaction to leave, Sara grabbed his keys from the ignition.

A small smile of thanks went a long way and Ian mimicked her practiced movement of sliding off the motorcycle. Sara took a deep breath and issued Ian's first invitation into her home.

"C'mon, Ian; I know you have amazing regenerative powers, but all cuts need to be clean. It's the least I can do. You did bail me out back there."

"It was an honor -" Whatever else Ian was going to say was lost as he turned away and cautiously led the way upstairs.

  


***** ***** *****  
© RK 13.Jan.2004


	2. Explanations

Disclaimer: _Witchblade_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I cannot help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway and b8kworm. I have taken liberties with the legend and lore surrounding the Witchblade, but it was fun to create something half as rich as actuality.

Summary: Destiny brought them together, Fate brought them love, But choice kept them together.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Mine. Anybody else, email me; I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): Ian/Sara

Spoiler(s): Yes, but they're all over the place and I can't name specific episodes.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: Before Dawn

Author: Adrianna AEternalis  
Email: adrianna@darkcorner.com

  


Chapter 2: Explanations

They sighed simultaneously in relief at the stale air of Sara's apartment. A subtle layer of dust coated everything and protested in spiraling clouds as they disturbed it when they walked through the apartment.

Long tense moments ticked by as each checked the apartment for bugs and hidden cameras. They looked towards the other at the instant of wary satisfaction and Sara pointed to the bed while she entered the bathroom.

Ian had his overcoat and sweater removed but Sara knew his t-shirt remained in spite of modesty. A sheen of sweat covered his face and the pulse point at his neck raced. Regenerative powers he may have but immunity to pain he did not; he also need time and rest.

Sara grabbed a pair of scissors on her way to Ian and contemplated him for a full moment. He made no objection, accepting her assessment so she kneel-walked on the bed until she was behind him. The cold bite of metal was expected but shocking from the sudden straightening of Ian's spine. The t-shirt fell away save the swatch sticking to the knife cut.

"Water."

Sara jumped from the first word spoken since they came indoors. "What?"

"Use water to peel the material away so it doesn't take the clot with it when you pull it away."

Well, that made sense; Sara used his good shoulder to help her off the bed. She did not miss the shudder that flowed through his body or the way his eyes rolled gradually shut. Again, choosing not to examine in favor of doing, Sara retrieved the water.

***** 

He was lying on his stomach, using a pillow to prop himself to a slightly elevated position when Sara finished her shower. His eyes were closed and breathing rate even, but Sara knew he was not asleep. There was a soft prodding in a portion of her mind. Sara glared irritably at Ian.

"Stop that. You already know I'm right here."

Ian's lips upturned into his typical smile of amusement. She laughed out loud herself and joined him on the bed, bringing a towel to dry her hair.

To both their surprise, it was Sara who began the conversation.

"Where have you been, Ian? It's been at least a week since I've felt you do that."

His eyes opened; Sara could not ignore the magnetism of his hazel-streaked brown eyes. In them, Sara read his pleasure at her first open acknowledgement of their newly developed psychic connection. She also saw his desire to evolve that connection from the occasional one sided him-to-her to a two sided occasional him-to-her-to-him version. However, he respected her pace even though it could have saved Sara the trouble of having to ever ask that particular question.

He answered her aloud since she started that way.

"I've been detained by a number of obligations since you killed Irons. I did not receive a strong warning from the Witchblade until tonight. As soon as I knew, I came. I am sorry I did not come sooner, Sara."

"I suppose I deserve that. After all, you have to deal with the consequences of Irons's death - as a family member would, don't you? Settling his accounts and so forth."

"I still should have been at your side." Nothing Sara could do or say would brush away Ian's inwardly directed guilt.

She smiled grimly. "Even you cannot be in two places at once. We took care of that remember?"

He mirrored her expression before asking, "So, what now?"

"I was kind of hoping you'd have an idea."

He paused, then answered, "I can only tell you what I have discovered."

She nodded in acceptance. "It's more than what I have now."

So Ian tentatively touched his mind to hers and directed her to watch. The memory unfolded like a movie, fading from black to full color as it opened to an Ian dressed for a day of corporate business. Suit and tie to match were donned to aid the illusion of a son in mourning but strong and ruthless enough to run his father's empire.

He sat at a desk, which Sara nearly did not recognize; she had always been on the other side. Piles of files dotted the surface and she felt his determination to absorb everything. Though he had been trained in everything from tae kwon do to languages and cultures to business matters, he rarely had the need to exercise business skills until recently.

Ian closed the current folder and reached for the next - and lingered. Sara read along with him as he discovered just how far spread the White Bulls were, and just how high the dirt went.

His voice was quiet in her mind. "Do you know what happens to a chicken with its head cut off?"

"It runs around like a cow with mad cow disease."

"Precisely."

"Those men in the alleyway - they were mercenaries, weren't they?"

"Hired by the White Bulls in revenge for killing the man who created their organization and kept them well funded."

"When'd you come across this? Why didn't you tell me sooner?" There was no mistaking the sensation of Sara's betrayal.

The memory continued and Ian was ripped from his shock by the insistent call of the Witchblade's male counterpart - the heavy blue ring comfortably encircling his finger. Without a glance to the cluttered desk, Ian rushed to the adjoining bathroom while systematically divesting himself of the suit. Waiting for him was the comfortable attire of black: sweater, overcoat, and boots.

A careful jump out the bathroom window was only the start of an anxious journey to Sara's side.

  


***** ***** *****  
© RK 13.Jan.2004


	3. Apartment Stay

Disclaimer: _Witchblade_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I cannot help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway and b8kworm. I have taken liberties with the legend and lore surrounding the Witchblade, but it was fun to create something half as rich as actuality.

Summary: Destiny brought them together, Fate brought them love, But choice kept them together.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Mine. Anybody else, email me; I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): Ian/Sara

Spoiler(s): Yes, but they're all over the place and I can't name specific episodes.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: Before Dawn

Author: Adrianna AEternalis  
Email: adrianna@darkcorner.com

  


Chapter 3: Apartment Stay

Ian watched drowsily as Sara moved through the apartment. In the practical duffel bag she held, she gathered the priceless mementos of her life. Framed photos, books, and computer discs were judged necessarily; she barely glanced at her wardrobe. Bag filled, Sara used a second to hold whatever clothing items she would need after their idyll in her apartment was shattered. She only hoped Ian would be ready.

Dropping both bags by the open window leading to her fire escape, she returned to Ian's prone form. She chewed her bottom lip and then plunged in again.

"They won't stop looking for me, will they, Ian? Not until I'm dead."

He shook his head the best he could.

"Then how good are my odds?"

"Not so bad now. Even better when you're fully alert. So, sleep, Sara."

She ignored his last words like he expected. Instead, she examined his knife wound.

"Ian, when we move, will you be alright? This doesn't look very good from here."

"I will be fine. All that matters is you."

She chewed her lip again, not wanting to ask for his help but not being able to act as though she was as optimistic as he was. They fell silent and Ian dozed lightly. Sara envied him; the what-ifs and uncertainty keyed her to exhilarating levels. Her sole sure bet was Ian, but the severity of his injury plagued him.

Suddenly, she felt herself drawn into a vision from the Witchblade. Once again, she was faced with a dying Irons begging her to save him. His swollen tongue reached desperately for her bleeding superficial wound.

Sara blinked the vision - no, memory - rapidly away and soon found the dimly lit apartment too bright. A broad, calloused hand fell over her eyes before she thought to do it herself. Praying she was making the right decision, she waited for her heart to slow down.

"Ian, how much do you know about the Witchblade?" she asked as she removed his hand. "Aside from what Irons told you," she added.

"Enough to know the difference between memory and visions, as well as how to locate the next Wielder."

"What?"

"Do you remember Lazar, Sara?"

"Blond, stringy hair? Stares right through you?"

He chuckled. "That would be Lazar. He knew the last true Wielder, and when she fulfilled her destiny, she released him from her service. Lazar can't die until he completes his last duty to the Witchblade."

"You're going cryptic on me."

Doubt clouded his expression. "Then, I'm telling you too much too soon. Perhaps you ought to ask me what you need."

Sara waited for the flash of annoyance that usually came whenever information was withheld from her. It never came - only her curiosity.

"Wow, so we're going to try being straightforward. What a concept." She let the laughter die away before asking, "What - why - what is in my blood that makes someone like Irons covet it so much?"

She did not expect the startled expression gracing Ian's countenance. His question of, "What do you remember?" was just shy of accusatory but it was the right tone to force an explanation from Sara. He never used a pitch louder than gentle persuasion with her.

"I remember Irons was dying. He begged me for a drop of my blood. I can't remember what it was about my blood - I realized something -" The harder Sara fought to remember, the more the recollection faded into mist.

It was through that mist that Sara saw Ian visibly relax. She had an instant to appreciate the masculine strength of his muscles before he conformed to the surface of the pillow and bed. Only his arms remained tense.

"Ian?"

He roused himself into a seated position and wadded his ruined t-shirt into a makeshift bandage. Using tape from Sara's first aid kit, he secured the shirt over the gauze pad that covered his injury. Roughly pulling his sweater over his head and onto his upper body, he finally turned to Sara.

"Your blood has unspeakable healing abilities. Irons wanted it because Elizabeth Bronte's cells lost their potency once you survived the Periculum and became the true Wielder."

She digested the information calmly; his words had served to part the mist of forgetfulness and she now remembered the immediate events leading up to her reversal of time. Except now, she was conflicted by two things: one, the Ian she knew was dead at that point so how would he know and two, what was it that Ian thought she was referring to?

Her intended interrogation never began. Sara caught the wary tension in Ian and it flowed easily towards her. Somebody - or bodies - was coming down the hall, aiming for her apartment. Their peace amidst the storm was over; it was time to go.

The annoyance she had been waiting for flared then. She yanked Ian's uninjured arm towards her; calm eyes returned her glare.

"This conversation is not over. Not by a long shot."

He surprised her by smiling. That was when Sara realized she had fallen into their long forgotten routine as sparring partners with animosity dropping for her every sentence.

She shook her head mentally as they gathered her duffel bags and raced through the window. Sara secured them in the saddle bags on the motorcycle as Ian started and gunned the engine. She barely had enough time to throw on her jacket when he changed the gears and drove into the night.

Their unwanted visitors only tasted smoke.

***** ***** *****  
© RK 13.Jan.2004


	4. Bungalow

Disclaimer: _Witchblade_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I cannot help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway and b8kworm. I have taken liberties with the legend and lore surrounding the Witchblade, but it was fun to create something half as rich as actuality.

Summary: Destiny brought them together, Fate brought them love, But choice kept them together.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Mine. Anybody else, email me; I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): Ian/Sara

Spoiler(s): Yes, but they're all over the place and I can't name specific episodes.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: Before Dawn

Author: Adrianna AEternalis  
Email: adrianna@darkcorner.com

  


Chapter 4: Bungalow

For a while, Sara let herself go and enjoyed the feel of wind in her hair. Faced with the option of safety and the wildness of riding without a helmet, she always chose the former. Somehow, it felt amazingly right for this early morning ride of freedom - for both her hair and her life. Once again, she realized she did not question Ian's part in it all; she merely accepted it.

Even now as she trusted Ian's guidance of the Ducati motorcycle into a nearby curve, that trust extended into so many different realms since Irons's death. Where she might have only relied on him to save her butt in a situation, she found that she expected his input on cases from work. She wanted to spend long evenings with him - if only to discuss and compare notes on the Witchblade.

Hidden in her soul, Sara gave a small nod of credit to an added desire for those evenings, but now was not the time. First, she needed to survive this manhunt for her head. Only the future would tell if she would have the time for recreation. As it was, Ian's nearness and the soothing vibrations of the motorcycle almost convinced her to bet on the positive.

Sara straightened her posture when she began to smell and taste salt in the air. Her hold on Ian's waist tightened immeasurably, but Ian was so sensitive to her. After who knows how long of her body straddling his, he was on that side of overdrive awareness.

"I hear the ocean," she stated, breath so close to his ear that it was a caress.

Ian let a laugh respond to her statement. "Did you think I was driving around aimlessly, Sara?"

She pushed at his good shoulder in mock insult.

"I've had a long week," Sara declared. "Cut me some slack, will you?"

He slowed the motorcycle and left the road for a gas station. The lights were on and it was clean. Again, she swung off the bike first, grateful for an opportunity to stretch her legs.

Tank full and dawn fast approaching, Ian drove single-mindedly for his safe haven from the world. The moment he had felt the Witchblade's urgent summons, he knew he may have to ground himself there. Or, if not him, then Sara.

Objectively, he analyzed the night's events and found him surprised once more. He had gone to Sara's side with no expectation of seeing another sunrise; that he would - with Sara - was a contemplation beyond his capabilities at the moment. Icing on the cake was her reliance on him. For a man who accepted a lifetime of unrequited love, he searched for a foundation strong enough to stay him.

***** 

They made it to Ian's single story bungalow just as the first rays of dawn lightened the eastern horizon. Each carrying a bag, they moved unconsciously together to bring the home from abandoned to living.

Deciding that the kitchen inventory could wait, Ian escorted Sara to the master bedroom and bid her a fond farewell. He sank gracefully to the floor in another room, grateful for having escaped their previously unfinished conversation. Dreading and anticipating it in equal parts since they fled Sara's apartment in the city, Ian finally let himself sleep.

***** 

She woke when the sun glowed orange and awareness forestalled as images from the alleyway deluged her. The instantaneous arrival of Ian in her mind calmed her and Sara managed to shake off her grogginess.

The enticing aroma of coffee lured her from bed to the kitchen where Ian awaited her. He held a steaming mug in his hands and he offered it as a benediction to Sara's senses. She reached for it, frowning when it did not come free from his grasp.

She looked into his eyes and froze for his assessment. His presence in her mind probed her gently and whatever he found satisfied. Sara dived into her coffee with abandon.

Ian offered her a stunning array of food for her substantial appetite. As she bit into a bagel, Sara could not remember her last meal in the comfort of safety. She wandered into the pantry to examine Ian's efforts while she slept; it was full to brimming. Returning, she set her breakfast-slash-dinner on a plate.

"Ian, I haven't thanked you properly."

He shook his head but knew this had to be said and done. The easiest way to conclude it would be to blatantly ignore it so he turned. It was then that Sara joined him at the counter and butted shoulders with him. Her action of companionship was met with a hiss of pain. They both had forgotten about Ian's shoulder.

She pushed him roughly into a chair as she drew his shirt off his body. A new gauze pad did not hide the renewed bleeding. Gingerly peeling it away, she saw that it must have been reopened at least twice - once just now and a second time when they ran from her apartment.

His hand on hers brought her focus back to him.

"I just need time. Every time it's reopened isn't helping."

"You should have told me."

Ian disagreed. "The priority is not me!"

Preferring not to argue, Sara switched to pleading, something with she was completely unfamiliar. "Then, at least, let me give you some of my blood."

He backed away from her, knocking over his chair when it became an obstacle.

"No! Don't ever offer that, Sara; you don't know what you ask of me!"

Pupils dilated and hid the unique beauty of his eyes. The blood vessels of his neck bulged and the muscles of his bare arms physically restrained his own powerful body. They held eye contact for suspended time and Ian broke away first. She watched speechless as he stalked from the room.

Sara had never seen such a transformation; not even watching Ian kill with his bare hands had surprised her as much as he did with that single outburst.

  


***** ***** *****  
© RK 14.Jan.2004


	5. Chained

Disclaimer: _Witchblade_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I cannot help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway and b8kworm. I have taken liberties with the legend and lore surrounding the Witchblade, but it was fun to create something half as rich as actuality.

Summary: Destiny brought them together, Fate brought them love, But choice kept them together.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Mine. Anybody else, email me; I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): Ian/Sara

Spoiler(s): Yes, but they're all over the place and I can't name specific episodes.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: Before Dawn

Author: Adrianna AEternalis  
Email: adrianna@darkcorner.com

  


Chapter 5: Chained

It was not difficult to guess which room Ian had gone; the beachside bungalow only contained a handful of them - an open living room and kitchen, bathroom, the room she had slept in, and a fourth room. Her one approach to it yielded the knowledge of fevered pacing. Sara's earlier surprised carried over - to think the ever stoic Ian Nottingham was capable of complete restlessness was unfathomable.

Still fatigued from the grueling week, Sara managed to barely clean the kitchen and secure the house before she collapsed back into bed. In that groundless moment between dreams and reality, the distinct feeling of the Witchblade nagged her. Sara begged for only a few hours rest before answering it.

***** 

She immediately recognized the Witchblade's vision of a memory as the gift it was. Confusion warred with curiosity when she saw herself lying unconscious and her wrist bare. The black figure was Ian and his profile substantiated it.

Sara watched as he stooped above a woman and wrenched the Witchblade from her lifeless arm. He held it for a few heartbeats, holding an intimate conversation with it before turning to her. He kneeled and slipped the Witchblade back to its usual resting spot. A finger traced it delicately and then moved to her bleeding arm.

Ian slowly tugged his glove off and dabbed one finger in her wound; he came away with blood. Trance-like, his finger reached his mouth and he tasted. Whatever he discovered had him shuddering and fighting for control.

Scenes fast-forwarded through Ian's meeting, or confrontation, with Irons. A similar high speed drive through the night brought him to the bungalow. He strode through the rooms, not bothering with lights or windows, ignoring everything that would hinder his goal of arriving to the room of chains.

They were big, heavy, and designed only to restrain. Black as Ian's preferred color, they were a sharp contrast to the tan of his naked skin. She could see plainly the cost: that small taste of her blood had him aroused to a point far beyond pleasure. These chains prevented Ian from harming himself.

Sara blinked; heartache sent her to the ground. While she could possibly force Ian to accept the healing abilities of her blood, it was he who had to deal with the after effects. It conflicted with her need for him to be capable of fighting; the White Bulls were still looking for her.

Raising her eyes, she saw an altered image. Besides the black chains holding Ian still, a delicate, silver chain wound about his body. It caressed him - and led directly from him to her. Intertwining with the Witchblade first, the lightweight silver circled her wrist only once, like a decorative armband.

She lifted her arm eyelevel to study it and used her other hand to trace the links of the chain. A resounding groan came from Ian's tortured lips; he fell to his knees or as far as he could go and Sara understood. The Witchblade was using the physical reality of the black chains to relate to Ian's duty. The silver chain was Ian's desire - and love - for her. When she touched the silver chain, it was the same as if she had touched him.

The struggle between duty and desire was so obvious now.

And if Sara looked closer, she knew she would see a third set of chains, invisible ones that shackled Ian to Irons. Even from the grave, he still controlled. So she chose; she chose to free Ian's soul from one of them. As she used a manifestation of the Witchblade, she promised Ian that she would break all of his chains.

***** 

He sat at her bedside, bathed in moonlight. Coaxing her from sleep with only his mind, he offered her another mug. The honey laced tea soothed a throat sore from sobbing and screaming.

Sara rose from bed and made for the shower. There was no need to verbalize her destination; Ian had seen it in her mind. She felt him withdraw, wanting to give her privacy, and she grabbed at him. Akin to a startled fall, Ian fell back into her mind; she labeled his emotion as hesitation and was satisfied when he tucked himself into a corner and stayed.

Her first words to him when she rejoined him in the bedroom was, "Show me how."

He glanced around the dark room and nodded but motioned her out. She received his "not in here" loud and clear. They settled in the living room: Ian prone on the floor because of his healing shoulder and Sara sprawled on a couch.

Ian began by withdrawing from her mind and speaking aloud. "It's a bit like telephoning somebody. First there is the desire, need, or impulse to call. Then it is a simple matter of picking up the phone and dialing."

"I get the wanting part. You lost me at the dialing."

"Sara, this is a case where 'it's easier said than done' is not true."

She gave him a skeptical expression. "Right."

"Close your eyes and try. If it helps, create an image of the person in your mind."

Obeying, Sara closed her eyes and sifted through her collection of Ian poses. Stopping at one of him gazing at her from the rooftop visible from her window, she felt a flare of heat from the Witchblade. That was all it took; she was now in Ian's mind. Elated, she promptly removed herself and repeated the maneuver again and again until the action became close to routine. Gradually, Ian challenged her by entering her mind simultaneously or by following her removal from his. She imitated him and they played an exhausting game of tag.

Eventually, Sara remained within his mind and looked around it. She laughed as the phrase "picking one's brain" took on a whole new meaning. Then, she noticed a portion of his thoughts were deeply shrouded by darkness, desire, and pain. It called to her, but Ian's frantic plea turned her away. Instead, Sara contented herself with Ian's wealth of information on the Witchblade.

She read about Lazar and the other Witchblade protectors - the Knights. She learned about all the women - true Wielders and not - and the men who wore or coveted the Witchblade. She taught herself the skills she needed to fulfill her destiny. She absorbed the detailed history of the Witchblade, the other supernatural weapons and artifacts that balanced its power, and the intricate pattern of how the Witchblade found its next Wielder. Last but not least, she discovered the truth to the unique relationship between Wielder and Knight and balked.

  


***** ***** *****  
© RK 16.Jan.2004


	6. Hunting

Disclaimer: _Witchblade_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I cannot help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway and b8kworm. I have taken liberties with the legend and lore surrounding the Witchblade, but it was fun to create something half as rich as actuality.

Summary: Destiny brought them together, Fate brought them love, But choice kept them together.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Mine. Anybody else, email me; I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): Ian/Sara

Spoiler(s): Yes, but they're all over the place and I can't name specific episodes.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: Before Dawn

Author: Adrianna AEternalis  
Email: adrianna@darkcorner.com

  


Chapter 6: Hunting

Ian kept a vigilant eye on Sara, who had her gaze trained on the ceiling.

"I don't know how much more of this waiting I can take."

He prudently chose to remain silent.

"I need to do something about the White Bulls! If your information was right, they're not just in the police precincts. Governments, too, and not just America's. God! Imagine what could happen if one of the managed to become a President or a Prime Minister or something!"

He heaved himself into an armchair and Sara instantly stood to use the vacated floor space for her caged activity. She walked the perimeter, length, and width of the room as she talked and though out loud.

Finally, she stopped and directed her next words to her only companion; he prepared himself to respond.

"I know the Witchblade expects me to clear the corruption, prevent any member of the White Bulls from ever gaining political power. Question: how can one person take down an entire organization? An international one at that."

His reply was as oblique as she expected: "Sometimes the catalyst is enough to cause an entire cascade."

She muttered curses in his general direction.

"Sara -"

She cut him off brusquely. "I don't want to hear it unless it's going to help."

He flashed her a half-smile. "Sara, trust the Witchblade. It knows waiting is not your - usual course of action."

"Okay." She drew out the word in irritation.

Shrugging, he stated, "Maybe you should not wait for them to find you. Maybe you should find them."

The idea caught hold. "If I can find their main hideout, I can expose everything about them. Name names even."

There was no point in any further input from Ian; this was her vendetta, her destiny. He rose and began to close up the bungalow again.

When he returned to Sara, it was to the words: "I need my Buell and I need to talk to Gabriel."

***** 

It was a no-brainer to send an encoded email to Gabriel. The immediate reply sent Ian and Sara out the door. They had scarcely enough time to make the meeting much less dawdle and plan scenarios.

Gabriel's reporter friend brought friends and Ian supplied them with whatever information he had gathered from the file at Vorschlag. Account numbers, dates, and dollar amounts began a world wide hacking and researching frenzy. Not being able to censor his own name, Ian nodded and shouldered one more burden in Sara's crusade.

Leaving Gabriel and the rest in a secured location, hidden behind locks and alarms of Ian's own design, he and Sara left to meet her motorcycle. They found it forlornly alone at her abandoned apartment.

He began a systematic check of the arsenal hidden within his overcoat as she started the engine. He missed the contemplative look settle upon her features so her words started him.

"We may have to make a choice later, so let's save time and make it now. The Buell or the Ducati?"

Faced with the eerie glow of her eyes, he had no answer.

"Which one handles better for you, Ian?" she asked, clearly exasperated.

"The Ducati." No hesitation in his reply.

"Okay. Remember that later."

He followed her blindly to another neighborhood of the city. They took the stairs two at a time and landed in Bruno Dante's apartment.

***** 

Only ten minutes passed in their waiting when Dante slid his key home, opened the door, and gaped at Sara, who sat comfortably on a counter.

"Hello, Dante. I hear you've been looking for me."

Alone with Sara, Dante's first instinct was to turn tail and return with reinforcements. That plan was dashed when Ian came up behind Dante and slammed the door shut. He leaned against it, locking the door as he awaited Sara. Door blocked and Sara between Dante and the fire escape, Dante felt like a mouse in a trap.

She slid off the counter, in a sensuous move to Ian's senses, and walked up to Dante, who wisely backed away - right into Ian's ready hands. Ian savored the quaking fear and jitters in the police captain.

"You have a choice, Dante."

"I'll - uh - I'll do whatever you want!"

"Not so tough without your buddies, are you? Whatever. I'm glad to hear you say that."

Ian withdrew a handheld knife and rested it gently against Dante's neck. Dante gulped and Sara stepped closer.

"You can either tell me where the White Bulls headquarters is and live or you can die and I'll visit to your boy, Orlinsky, for information."

"He doesn't know anything!"

Ian easily restrained the man while Sara crooned, "Glad to see you're capable of loyalty. Pity though, Dante; that just means you'll have to tell me."

"I don't know anything." He tried one last stand of defiance.

"You know why I don't believe you? You didn't contradict me the first time I asked."

"You're insane, Pezzini!"

The knife kissed his neck and drew blood without inciting any pain, but the smell of blood broke Dante.

"Yes, I may be, but I'm not the one who has a knife to the neck, am I?"

"You'll never get passed the guards. One call from me, and that place will be locked down better than Alcatrez!"

"Like you said, Dante, I'm insane. Now how about it?"

He recited a legitimate sounding address, and Ian nodded to Sara in recognition of the neighborhood and block. They left a whimpering Dante behind, but not before allowing Ian a small amount of target practice.

The moment they reached the street and were down the block, Sara called Gabriel.

"What? Okay. Were you able to get an address for the number?" She paused. "Good job. Thanks, Gabe." She turned to Ian. "Dante just made a call. The trace goes back to the address he gave us."

"Let's go."

  


***** ***** *****  
© RK 16.Jan.2004


	7. Negotiate

Disclaimer: _Witchblade_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I cannot help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway and b8kworm. I have taken liberties with the legend and lore surrounding the Witchblade, but it was fun to create something half as rich as actuality.

Summary: Destiny brought them together, Fate brought them love, But choice kept them together.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Mine. Anybody else, email me; I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): Ian/Sara

Spoiler(s): Yes, but they're all over the place and I can't name specific episodes.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: Before Dawn

Author: Adrianna AEternalis  
Email: adrianna@darkcorner.com

  


Chapter 7: Negotiate

Adrenaline pumping through their blood vessels, they drove along back roads at top speeds, stopping a few times to fill the motorcycles' tanks. The relative wilderness yielded no cops on the lookout for speeders. It also masked their approach to the mansion-like estate.

They parked their rides scant feet from the main drive and jumped the fence for access. Either the way in or the way out would be easier; time would tell.

Hidden by the dense trees, Sara and Ian crept towards the brightly lit building. Either Dante's call had not been a warning or they had disregarded his words; whichever the case, all was calm.

Taking turns, they installed the remote receivers that Gabriel and the others would use to access the White Bulls' digitized information. Sara was convinced that such an organization would have embraced as many technological advancements as they could.

Ian followed Sara and Sara obeyed the insistent pulling of the Witchblade to a second story hallway. Around the corner was a room barricaded by a long hallway; Sara stopped, memories of the alleyway fresh in her mind. Interspersed were visions of Ian; looks of resignation and lost trust contorted his face.

Steeling herself, Sara blinked and the alleyway cleared to show the hallway. Yet, Ian's hurt lingered. He caught her attention when he shifted from her side and moved to enter the door first. She had to perform some sort of buffer control.

"Ian, listen to me." He stopped but did not divert his attention from the door. "Whatever happens after this, I'm telling you now, I trust you. Got it?"

The intensity in her voice shook him away from the glaring contest he had with the door. Why would this matter? He spotted the glowing Witchblade and put the pieces together. Placing everything he had to lose in Sara's trust, he approached the closed door.

***** 

They were arrayed about the conference table with the air of practiced ease schooled to perfection. Twelve individuals in all, they sat six opposite six; the last two seats at the table were vacant - one at either end.

"Detective Pezzini, it's nice of you to join us. Mr. Nottingham." The greeting was suspiciously civil in its undercurrents of familiarity.

"Ian, you know them?" Sara asked Ian while never taking her eyes off the gathered; he had crept to stand just behind her since determining the room was relatively safe. Although concerned about the tension radiating off of him, she had no other reason to worry; he guarded her back.

"I recognize all as employees of various corporations associated with Vorschlag." His voice was thick with a potentially perceived betrayal.

"Right." She redirected her words to the current White Bulls' leadership. "So, I hear you've been looking for me. Here I am; thank you for the eloquent invitation, by the way."

The one who had spoken before glared at Sara. Immediately, she knew he was the one to watch and goad; their chairman was absent but he had no qualms about taking power. The other eleven were merely pawns.

Instead of addressing Sara, the man spoke almost reverently to Ian. "Very well. Then let us begin; Mr. Nottingham, as your father's successor, your seat is here." He motioned to the vacant seat at the head of the table.

She felt Ian's surprise more in her mind than in the cold expression she saw in the man's face. Evidently Ian's stoic rejection of the seat was a drastic change in plans.

The man rose. "Mr. Irons specifically assured us that your loyalty was absolute. He warned us that you would come with Detective Pezzini, but that would be a deception. We thank you for delivering her to us, but, now, the rest is our duty. Please, take your seat!"

Sara gently prodded Ian's mind, and she felt his desperate entreaty for an opposing sentiment. He would never betray Sara by bringing her into a trap. Never. Again, she gently prodded him, reminding him of her words as they entered the room. There was an imperceptible straightening of his body as he realized how much she did not believe their words. Ian now fully grasped Sara's words and actions; Irons no longer had any control of him.

The clock ticked loudly as Ian returned a bored stare to twelve simultaneously shocked visages.

Sara's nerves grated in the silent waiting. When they began to scream, she ground out, "Care to explain?"

A woman motioned the man back to his chair. Voice apathetic, she stated, "Before Mr. Irons's unfortunate death, he addressed a letter to us. In that letter, he informed us of the events that would unfold after his death. Knowing we would be concerned with losing his generous sponsorship, Mr. Irons reassured us; we would have no reason to believe Mr. Nottingham would not continue with all of Mr. Irons's investments."

"You were expecting another Irons."

Twelve swallows followed Ian's musing; they were beginning to see their upper hand dissolve.

Sara's natural impatient streak pertaining to all things Irons chose then to surface. "Obviously, you were mistaken; Ian has no ties to Irons. Irons is dead." Her emphasis on the last sentence produced group winces on its cue.

The woman waited for barely a breath before speaking again. "Very well. We are prepared to negotiate." There was the slightest waver in her voice; Sara clued in on it.

"Yes, negotiate. How about -"

Her cell phone rang and Ian had answered and ended the call in the blink of an eye. His voice in her mind told her the caller and the message.

While she and Ian had been "talking" with the twelve council members, Gabriel and the others had been working furiously to hack into the White Bulls' computerized databases. Using the remote accessing devices they had placed on their trek inwards, it had taken the group mere moments to gain access and begin downloading. Prudently, Gabriel had called just as they had finished the massive data transfer; within moments, all the bits and bytes were on their way to reputable, but shock-able minds.

She felt Ian move away from her; he now stood equidistant from her, the door, and the conference table. They had accomplished what they came to do; it was time to go.

  


***** ***** *****  
© RK 16.Jan.2004


	8. Blood Gift

Disclaimer: _Witchblade_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I cannot help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway and b8kworm. I have taken liberties with the legend and lore surrounding the Witchblade, but it was fun to create something half as rich as actuality.

Summary: Destiny brought them together, Fate brought them love, But choice kept them together.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Mine. Anybody else, email me; I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): Ian/Sara

Spoiler(s): Yes, but they're all over the place and I can't name specific episodes.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: Before Dawn

Author: Adrianna AEternalis  
Email: adrianna@darkcorner.com

  


Chapter 8: Blood Gift

She began conversationally. "You know, I originally thought Dante was behind all those nitwits chasing me. I'm glad I didn't waste my energy on him since it was your order. No deal; I want you twelve dead."

The first man glared at her. "How did you know?"

Sara grinned. "Aside from you telling me just now? Let's just say that you should check on your security systems."

As the Witchblade morphed from the bracelet to the protracted blade form, Ian had a perverse sense of light-headedness as he saw the Wielder and the Wielded wound so closely together. He withdrew a gun from his overcoat and prepared himself to watch and wait; this was Sara's battle. He would handle any vestigial opponents.

Like a b-rated movie, the twelve members of the White Bulls council stood and kicked back their chairs. The table no longer concealed swords handled with keen familiarity. Insurance - they knew Sara would not talk; they simply did not anticipate Ian to even the score.

Sara was not surprised; guns and gunpowder were relatively new weapons of death and the Witchblade easily proved how easily it fought against them. Somehow, Sara knew Irons would insist the White Bulls' council members to sword fight. This fight had the ring of an old-fashioned, outlawed duel. She liked that.

The atmosphere changed readily from charged tension to the deliberate clash of metal on metal. Concentrating on her greatest threat, she deflected, parried, and lunged. Sometimes, she hit flesh; others, she gained ground. Through it all, one by one fell to the ground with fatal wounds.

When the door had been opened, Sara did not know but her few glances in its direction showed her an impressive Ian in action. He knelt on one knee, braced against the jerking motion of his gun and took his time in aiming through it. He had a pile of bodies there, motionless; the stark differences between their styles amused her.

She returned her attention to the remaining council members, but her mind kept whispering, "This is too easy. This is just too damn easy."

She saw the hand groping for the now obvious gun one second too late. Ian surged forward, kicking the door shut while reaching to protect his lady at the same instant. His full weight slammed her to the ground and kept her there. Not yet fully recovered from the knife wound, Sara stared - shocked - into slowly glazing hazel eyes.

Metal clattered to the ground as the last of the White Bulls council members died in agony. Grunts followed as the guards beyond the door furiously tried to enter the room. Instantly, Sara knew that a silent alarm had been triggered and, once activated, this room was meant for shelter - no way in, now way out. They were safe for the time being.

Meanwhile, Ian crushed Sara to the floor, face ashen. In his eyes, the triumph that she saw entwined with the pain infuriated her. She shoved, cursed, and rolled his weight off her.

His hand with his blue encrusted silver ring grabbed her elbow in a viper's grip. The Witchblade withdrew quietly, returning to its dormant form - ever unwilling to be used against its Weilder's Knight.

"Sara."

She gave a token curse to the Witchblade before she answered his call.

"I never thought of you as stupid, Ian. Why'd you have to go and -" She refused to make his deed reality by speaking of it.

He chucked, painfully. Blood mingled generously with spit, yet he smiled an endearingly toothy grin.

"Sara, please understand. I never expected to live after the Witchblade first called me. All this, since then, has been highly unexpected."

She snorted before she realized the clarifying evidence to his words. "That's why your shoulder hasn't healed."

Ian nodded carefully. She could see how he fought against unconsciousness.

"You need to go, Sara. Gabriel and the others are safe, but you need to go. You're not finished yet." He paused for breath, tightening his grip on her arm. "You have set motions in progress, but you need to see things through now. Sara, I've left you everything so you can fulfill the rest of your destiny."

"What?" Sara growled.

She watched him gather his strength to impart the rest of his knowledge, but he was running out of time. Suddenly, Sara felt empty. Even all the other deaths in her life had not left such a soul-wrenching reaction. She had grown accustomed to his constant presence in her mind; its loss was startlingly instructive.

Like they had played at the beachside bungalow, her mind dove after Ian's retreating mind, anchoring him in life. He fought her hard, instinctively, before surrendering. As he gave, her physical body forced a different sort of give.

His mouth opened beneath hers and she gave him a breath of life. Involuntarily, he swallowed her blood, which oozed from her tongue when she had bit it during Ian's tackle.

She felt his surprise, his self-loathing, his need as he felt his body burn. She countered his push away from her by tightening her hold on him; she needed this as much as he refused. Gradually, his arms changed from stiffness to a desperate reciprocation.

It was there, sprawled on a conference room floor that Sara knew exactly why Ian had not thought to survive the alleyway attack. A man can survive only so many days of having his heart thoughtlessly battered. And through it all, he never blamed the one who battered; he blamed himself.

Before Sara could investigate that random thought, a loud bang shattered the quiet. She helped Ian to his feet, giving him a few precious seconds to gain his balance.

Now: window or door?

The latter was not an option; she ran to throw the window open and saw the sheer drop onto the rolling landscape that awaited them. Ian, however, took one glance, gathered her body to his, and flew through the opening. He landed and tucked into a somersault to cushion the landing; his body easily absorbing the impact with Sara's blood to buoy him. As soon as he let her go, they ran into the tree cover while loud curses of dismay and revenge followed their escape.

  


***** ***** *****  
© RK 25.Jan.2004


	9. Farewell

Disclaimer: _Witchblade_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I cannot help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway and b8kworm. I have taken liberties with the legend and lore surrounding the Witchblade, but it was fun to create something half as rich as actuality.

Summary: Destiny brought them together, Fate brought them love, But choice kept them together.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Mine. Anybody else, email me; I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): Ian/Sara

Spoiler(s): Yes, but they're all over the place and I can't name specific episodes.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: Before Dawn

Author: Adrianna AEternalis  
Email: adrianna@darkcorner.com

  


Chapter 9: Farewell

They had reached and had scaled the fence when they saw the headlights of their pursuers. They clearly could hear the distinctive engines of a fleet of vehicles - motorcycles like their own, cars, and a variety of others.

It took too agonizingly long for the Ducati and the Buell to start; Sara used that time to whisper a fond farewell to her motorcycle. However, in the interest of the priceless-ness of lives, it would have to go.

This time, the wilderness betrayed them, giving away their every sound as they tried to outdistance the vengeful. Sara waited and waited, hoping that reality would not evolve into her earlier vision. When the first bullet whizzed past her, she conceded defeat.

She preempted Ian's rebellion of her plan by reminding him of his choice. Using the Witchblade for protection, Sara forced the Buell to lean at an absurd angle and sent the motorcycle into a chaotic spin straight into the cavalry pursuing them. Ian was there, on the Ducati, instantaneously; after overcorrecting a few times, she was protected from the fired bullets by Ian's body.

Sara helped him out of the overcoat, which drifted ominously and the hidden bomb exploded right on target. All the while, Ian accelerated and the distance increased. Uneasy still, she helped herself to Ian's store of arsenal and picked off her targets.

Thankful for the unspoken connection of their minds, Sara managed to hit every body she chose, compensating naturally for the twisting zigzag motion of the Ducati.

***** 

Ian did not relax when their pursuers finally abandoned the chase; Sara's blood still worked its effects on his body. She was too close. Masking his discomfort, he wished for the adrenaline to return. Under its influence, he was capable of small chunks of forgetfulness.

He did his best, however, to cradle Sara in the warmth he wished she wanted from him. Knowing daylight would bring an end to the companionship, he opted for another moonlit drive to the beachside bungalow. Barely hearing her murmured approval, he headed to his doom.

She was asleep, completely exhausted from the physical battles of tonight and the past week, the emotional parting with the Buell, and coming into full command of the Witchblade. There was more for her to do, but they all discounted his participation. Resignation was always a bitter reward.

He carried her gently to bed, removing as much outerwear as he could. As much as he wished, he could not leave Sara - not if he still had a reason to protect her. He slid to the floor at the foot of her bed - to sleep - in the position of lifetime surrender.

***** 

Already, there were far-reaching consequences to their actions that night. The fourth estate devoured the story, plastered it on the front page with an appropriate color photo, and called it the biggest news story since former President Clinton's impeachment.

As reporters raced to interview the implicated and the accused, devoted law enforcement officers came upon scenes of utter carnage. Those who were unable to flee under the cover of darkness committed suicide, hoping to redeem something from a vaguely honorable death. Those who remained alive were caught by steel handcuffs and thrown into awaiting cells; there they met fellow White Bulls members for the first time. It was impossible to try and trace each member; there was enough to do with reshuffling governmental positions.

Other reporters stalked Vorschlag, hoping to receive a statement from the recently appointed owner. Morning rush hour waned, but he never made an appearance.

***** 

They had argued as they generally did before the necessary truce had sprung between them after the alleyway incident. In a way, Sara expected nothing else; last night, as they slept, she had relieved Ian from another set of chains binding him.

In that special hour of dreams, she gave him the choice of which one to cut. When he chose the black chains, Sara tried to convince Ian otherwise; she was more than uncomfortable with his ready answer.

He taunted her then, expertly using guilt. He reminded her that, even though they dreamed, he was still under the intoxicating influence of Sara's blood. He accepted that she did need him to escape the second story window, but he had been capable of helping her - as long as she promised him rest after it was said and done. He drove the point home by stating she chose him; how, he had no other choice but to choose the chain that bound him to her.

So, she drew his sword, used all her strength to slice through both. She was pinned against a wall faster than she could realize the silver chain had slipped from wrapping about the Witchblade first to a double circlet solely on her wrist.

He kissed her gently and, in her mind, she acted on his invitation to enter the dark caverns of his mind. She saw a slideshow of memories featuring herself as lead actress, but the memories started months before the Witchblade deigned to grace her life.

She saw sporadic moments where Ian had noticed Sara's presence at various neighborhood crime scenes. Then, he had the normality of being like any other man, watching any other woman do her job. She felt his admiration and respect for an unknown beautiful woman with the strength to choose an atrocious career. Then, his dismay when he faced her across the glass and red velvet case of the Witchblade in the museum.

He showed her his inconclusive debate on whether the Witchblade picked Sara due to his interest in her or he was interested in Sara because of her inherit ability to wield the Witchblade.

He had no answer for the extraordinary connectedness of it - until he discovered his reaction to the taste of her blood. She knew of the near betrayal he felt as she pulled him away from death and the torrent rushing though him as they dreamed. This time, he lacked the luxury of locking himself away; he was due to make an appearance before cameras and comment on the corruption of the White Bulls, its extent, and his thoughts on Irons's treachery.

He told her of the arrangements he had made for her - bank accounts, apartments across the world, traveling accommodations - all to ease the rest of her duty to scourge the world of corruption. He promised they were still hers to be had; she felt his bitter loneliness aimed at life. From now on, his role was deemed unwarranted.

When Sara woke, there was nothing but cold filling the absence caused by his withdrawal.

  


***** ***** *****  
© RK 25.Jan.2004


	10. The Return

Disclaimer: _Witchblade_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I cannot help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway and b8kworm. I have taken liberties with the legend and lore surrounding the Witchblade, but it was fun to create something half as rich as actuality.

Summary: Destiny brought them together, Fate brought them love, But choice kept them together.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Mine. Anybody else, email me; I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): Ian/Sara

Spoiler(s): Yes, but they're all over the place and I can't name specific episodes.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: Before Dawn

Author: Adrianna AEternalis  
Email: adrianna@darkcorner.com

Chapter 10: The Return

It was an odd reversal of roles: where previously Ian had nothing to root him in New York City, he now had an entire corporation to oversee. Where Sara had emotional ties to the city, she currently traveled the world in search of the remaining members of the White Bulls.

Like cancer spreads, leaving any alive would increase the future's chance of a resurrection and Sara was anything but thorough. She had accepted Ian's offer-slash-demand and left. There was nothing but pain for her in New York City. She was cursed, by turn - to be a traitor as well as a martyr. Praised by the good; slandered by the rest. It was not living when one constantly had to watch one's back.

So she wandered the world, taking care not to leave any indication of her next destination. At first, she maintained awkward communication with Ian through a series of telephone calls and email exchanges. Yet, she mourned the loss of his stalwart presence in her mind.

It was through television broadcasts that she kept tabs on Ian. On camera, his outside appearance was the reassuring calm, cool, collected stoicism. Her nights were filled with glimpses of Ian's torture; even weeks later, he still suffered from her blood. No wonder; there were neither chains of duty nor of Irons to restrain him.

She carefully searched the grainy photos in various international newspapers. His face revealed undiluted pain and unhappiness. It contradicted his voice whenever she called. Worried that she was harming him further with them, she restricted herself to terse emails detailing her progress and expenses.

For a while, she stopped relying on his arrangements and found herself faced with the terrifying fury and concern of the Knight Ian was born to be. Their first conversation since the fiasco at New York City, they reformed their cautious truce: she promised to use his money, thus allowing Ian to track her movements, he wordlessly tolerated Sara's absence in his life.

Weeks later, she accompanied him to the Villa when he undertook Lazar's funeral details. The ceremony was private, short, and poignant. The Knights' Villa along the coast was a misty, magical place and Sara learned more of her predecessors as well as her successors.

Since the Witchblade never extracted more years than necessary from its Wielder, once her destiny was fulfilled, she was free to live the rest of her life at the Villa. The Witchblade and the Knight would find the next Wielder - whoever, wherever, however long it took. Sara tried to feel injustice for the prolonged requirements inflicted upon Ian, but she never saw him so at peace as he was while at the Villa. They parted as acquaintances then.

***** 

So, why was she flying back to New York City and renting a car to drive herself to a certain beachside bungalow? The answer was as simple as companionship. Residing within that bungalow was the sole individual who understood her and accepted her as is. He loved her.

She learned during her wanderings about the pressing hardship of aloneness, a concept with which Ian was very intimate. She understood, finally, the vast experiences that made him the man he became; she accepted him.

And, somewhere along the nights and days of her hunt and the times she rested at the Villa, she fell in love with him - happily and without fear.

***** 

Sara stopped the car halfway across town and walked the remaining blocks to the bungalow. Somehow, it seemed appropriate to lack an adequate getaway vehicle.

None of the lights were on, but the windows were clear. Briefly, she wondered if he was sleeping still; not taking a chance to wake him, she rounded the bungalow to wait for him. The beach was the backyard and had a fantastic view of the eastern horizon.

In the faintly dawning light, she saw a lone figure. Tall, striking against the light, graceful as he moved from stance to stance. Sara recognized the flowing movement: Tai Chi. She had an opportunity to learn while traveling and she had grown to cherish those few moments of peaceful solitude. From somewhere inside, the thought of peace carried on to inform her that there was a different aspect to it; she smiled since it appealed to her, too. For a man trained in deadly offense, Tai Chi gave him a soothing avenue to continue the routine he had established since childhood.

Wanting to give him the choice to talk or to ignore, Sara reached out with her mind and just brushed against his. She saw and felt the jaw-dropping surprise he entertained. Wariness was discovered the same way.

His approach was slow as though he tried to simultaneously disregard her yet drawn irresistibly to place one foot before the other in her direction. Sara screamed at her nerves to calm them and used a few favorite expletives directed to the Witchblade.

"Hey, Sara."

Did she imagine amusement or was he really happy with her arrival? One glance into his eyes gave her the courage to finish her voyage home.

Sara engulfed herself in the circle of his arms, savoring the heat she craved during her journeying. She laughed giddily as he linked his mind to hers where she enthusiastically shared her discovery of love. She shared the cherished memory of a warm night, clear skies overhead, stars twinkling expectantly towards her; the night that she had made her choice and began the trip back to Ian.

But not before she etched into the granite of the Villa's foundation her declaration:

Destiny brought them together,  
Fate brought them love,  
But choice kept them together. 

FIN

***** ***** *****  
© RK 26.Jan.2004


End file.
